Chapter Nineteen
They rode off again, lost in their own doubts and hurts.
That day the countryside grew increasingly craggy, with blue mesas spawning buttes and ledges to the north and south of them. As they crested a rise bedecked with hackberry, sage, and cedar, Annie caught her first glimpse of the full face of the Rockies in the distance. Jagged blue mountains erupted out of the earth, their peaks arcing skyward, capped in glistening white, with shafts of mists spiraling off the pinnacles to melt into the incredibly blue skies above. The sight was awe-inspiring, though her mood remained bittersweet, her mind still focused on the troubling impasse between her and Sam.
Finally he broke the silence. "You still mad at me, sugar?"
She slanted him an admonishing glance. "You're saying I don't have cause? When you're planning to take me to your grandmother, so she can reform me of my deceitful ways?"
"I'm just saying my grandma's a mighty wise woman," he reiterated. "She'll be able to make sense of this."
"And you can't?"
Sam pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Annie, I'm a simple man. I ain't as smart as you. I can't grasp all this far-fetched stuff you keep telling me."
"Nonsense," she replied. "You're much smarter than you think, Sam. You could understand a lot if you really tried. You're just too proud and stubborn to admit you're wrong."
She watched his jaw harden. "We'll see what Medicine Woman says."
Annie bit back her next retort. There was no sense making Sam miserable. He seemed sincere and was obviously as troubled as she was; perhaps for now it was beyond him to accept what she was saying. And she had to love him for being willing to help her anyway.
Still, she felt frustrated and hurt at the wall of mistrust and anguish looming between them. That barrier kept her from him when she wanted nothing more than to fly into his arms and love him to death. Especially when memories of last night kept rising to torment her—of how wonderful and sexy Sam had been, how close they'd drawn. But now she'd awakened to the sobering reality that things weren't nearly as perfect as she had assumed and they had a long way to go before they could be close again. This thought made her features tighten with turmoil.
Sam noted that expression of pain and it tore at his gut. He could feel the emotional distance stretching between him and Annie. Lord, he burned for her, memories of her sweet surrender driving him mad. He hungered to take her in his arms again and melt that look of hurt from her lovely face. He longed to lie naked with her in a dusky hollow, to kiss and caress every inch of her, to thrust into her all day long until she begged for mercy.
But he couldn't seem to bridge this vast chasm between them. And he wouldn't lie to her to get her back into his bed. He couldn't say he believed her when he didn't. And as much as he knew that hurt her, he hurt, too.
Her voice, forced and cheerful, cut into his thoughts. "So, how far is it to Grandma's place?"
He smiled. "A few more days. She and her band are hiding out in a valley beyond Central."
Annie frowned. "You mean there are still Indians roaming free in Colorado in 1885? I would have thought most of the Indians in this area would have been gathered up on the reservations by now—or have fled further west."
"You're right there," Sam admitted. "The few free Indian bands left are mostly in Nebraska, Wyoming, and Dakota territories." He sighed. "With the buffalo all but extinct, they won't be roaming for long. Those that don't starve will be forced to go to the reservations."
"And your grandmother's band? How did they manage to remain free here in Colorado?"
"They have quite an interesting history," he related. "I reckon I'll let her tell the story."
"Can you at least tell me how they've eluded the cavalry?"
"By never staying in one place too long. They've been roving for nigh onto six years now—with my help, and that of another white man."
"You don't mean Moon Calf?"
Sam laughed. "No, a former mule skinner named Whip Whistler. Whip's been living with my grandma's band for these last six years. When we get to my grandmother's camp, you'll learn all about it."
"This is promising to be an interesting tale," she replied.
The atmosphere between them remained strained as they continued toward the Cheyenne village. Soon after they passed the small town of Trinidad, they found themselves among the Rockies in earnest. Amid the falling of a light, cold mist, they followed a well-marked trail that took them steadily higher, past massive, gray stone dikes that sliced across mountain ranges, dramatic rock walls springing inexplicably from the face of the Rockies. Annie was amazed to glimpse a mountain lion soberly watching them from one of those high, jagged ledges. She also caught her first close-up glimpses of thick ponderosa pines and thin, ramrod straight aspens that were downright poetic in their symmetry. Brilliant mountain bluebirds and colorful sapsuckers flitted among the trees; Annie heard woodpeckers drilling, as well as the harsh cries of ravens. Mule deer and bighorn sheep frequently crossed their path.
Although they did not make love again during this phase of their journey, the enforced intimacy of the trail—watching Sam wash and dress, knowing he slept just across from her at night—was almost more than Annie could bear. From the confused yet burning looks he cast her way, his agitation was equal to her own.
Their second night on the trail was particularly difficult for her. She had just returned to camp after washing her hair at a stream. She stood struggling to brush snarls out of her wet curls while Sam sat on a nearby granite boulder, intently watching her. After a moment, she muttered a curse.
Without a word, Sam pulled her onto his lap, took the hairbrush from her hand, and began smoothing out the tangles with infinite care and patience. Annie found she couldn't meet Sam's eyes. It was all so sweet and sexy that she almost succumbed to him then and there. She almost burst into tears again.
When he finished, he tipped her face up to his and gently kissed her. Annie bolted away like a spooked deer, certain she would have fallen apart had she stayed.
Oh, yes, Sam had the ability to get to her that way, to make those feelings rise up in her: how much she missed her parents and worried about her brother; how much she needed something in her life. Home, a family. A man.
A man like Sam. Was he the one perfect mate for her, the one she'd come across time to find? She was so drawn to him. Yet they were so different, they wanted vastly different things from the opposite sex, and she had no idea how long this would last, or if it would last. And he still wouldn't accept who she was.
The weather remained cold, with frequent mists or even light rain dampening their passage. But Annie found that the spectacular setting more than compensated for any discomfort caused by the elements. They continued along crude trails and over well-traveled wagon roads, sometimes snaking through breathtaking passes and along sheer cliffs. They observed remarkable granite formations, huge, glistening pink boulders tossed into deep valleys like so many pebbles haphazardly thrown into baskets. They rode through small, bustling communities and past spooky ghost towns. They wended their way through an endless morass of abandoned mines, as evidenced by crumbling mine heads and broken-down sluices, deteriorating rail beds, and massive piles of tailings mounded along the hillsides. They crossed shallow rivers, icy mountain streams, quiet farms, and busy cattle ranches. They viewed beavers working on dams, chipmunks scurrying up trees.
The sheer beauty and magnitude of the Rockies was almost too much for Annie to absorb. Everywhere she looked were spectacular splashes of color: the misty purple of the mountains, the bright green of grassy meadows, the flaming yellow of aspens, the sapphire blue of a lake, the fiery rust of a rufous hummingbird flitting at the delicate lilac of a late-blooming columbine.
Finally one morning the mist broke, and a brilliant sun heralded the advent of a crisp, clear day. As they crossed a high Alpine meadow dotted with yellow sunflowers and purple gentians, Sam made an abrupt announcement.
"Reckon we'll be at Grandma's village soon. It's in a hidden valley beyond the next pass."
Taken aback, Annie glanced at him. "We're really that close?"
"Yep."
"How many Indians live at the village?"
"About twenty. Before we get there, I wanted to tell you a little about their traditions."
"You mean me being a White Eyes and all?" Annie quipped. "Believe me, I wouldn't want to insult anyone."
"That's good—because the purpose of my grandmother's band is to preserve the Cheyenne way of life, which is dying off at the reservations."
Annie nodded. "I'm aware that the reservation system is a dismal failure, that it has decimated the Indian culture."
"I just wouldn't want you to violate any taboos while we're at the tribe."
"Such as?"
He eyed her soberly. "Well, when you enter a lodge, you as a woman must always step to the left."
"The left?" she repeated, puzzled.
"Yep. Men always step to the right."
Annie's gaze implored the blue heavens. "I should have known."
"After you're inside the lodge, you must remain standing until the host invites you to sit. Also, you must never walk between an Indian and the fire—it's considered bad medicine. Walk behind them instead."
"Aye, aye," she responded cheerily.
He affected a stern look. "My grandmother's band often has open councils, where all are invited, though my grandmother is the only woman who is allowed to speak, being the honored medicine woman. Otherwise, only the men talk."
"Well, since I don't speak Cheyenne, I'm sure you needn't worry about my interrupting the council."
"Most of the band members speak English as well as Cheyenne," he replied. "Just remember, if you can't contain yourself and must speak out, it's considered an insult to interrupt another speaker—or a storyteller."
Annie was frowning, trying to absorb all the admonitions. "Anything else?"
"Yes. It is forbidden to point at any heavenly body, or to watch members of the Quilling Society at work, or to burn the feathers of an owl."
"Oh, gee, and I was planning an owl-feather barbecue tonight."
He scowled.
"Sam, I was being silly," she replied, laughing. "I can't even bear the prospect of any animal or bird being harmed."
"That's good," he commented. "The Cheyenne respect the powers of nature and only use its bounties as needed. In fact, Cheyenne women believe that golden eagles possess such powerful medicine that if they touch such a bird, some affliction will befall them."
She wrinkled her nose. "How peculiar—but also fascinating."
He snapped his fingers. "Oh, and women, except those in a special society, aren't allowed to handle wolves."
She smirked. "Too late for that now."
He shot her a mock-scolding look. "When it comes to meals and stuff, there are other rituals and blessings. Just follow my lead."
She made a strangled sound. "Good grief, Sam, you're making me feel like some naughty child being lectured by her auntie before being taken to tea."
"Truth to tell, you're gettin' off easy," he teased back. "At least there ain't no Contraries in this camp."
"What on earth are Contraries?"
"They're members of a warrior society that does everything backwards. So, if you want a Contrary to go north, you gotta tell him to go south, and so forth."
"You're kidding."
He slowly shook his head.
Annie waved a hand. "So how am I supposed to remember all this stuff? And if I violate some taboo, will I be burned at the stake?"
He chuckled. "Cheyenne are peaceable by nature. It's the encroachment and broken treaties of the whites that has forced them to fight. Still, if you violate a taboo, it won't go down well."
"I'll do my best to be circumspect."
All at once, Annie strained in her saddle as they crested a rise. In the valley below she spotted half a dozen white lodges gathered in a circle; beyond the tepees, a makeshift corral teemed with pinto ponies and brown cattle. Flanking the camp to the west was a gleaming blue lake; to the east rose a forested mountain.
"Good gracious, we really are here."
He smiled. "With the exception of my grandmother, you'll find the Cheyenne are suspicious of most whites, at least at first. You'd best let me do the talking for now."
Watching Indians emerge from their lodges to view their approach, Annie replied dryly, "Be my guest."